Emma took one step at a time, with Josh holding her elbow. She blinked at the bright sky but couldn’t speak. Dark clouds raced above them. He gave her a grim smile, then set out the way they’d come. She trudged behind him, her brain in a fog. She had slept, but it was a restless, dreamless sleep that had left her more zombie-like than refreshed.
He stopped, and she sank to the ground. Rubbing her forehead, she gazed at him. He had that frown again. She dropped her eyes, unable to lift her chin. What was she doing out here, and why did he always have that frown? Was she sicker than he let on?
“This fell out of your pocket. I wasn’t snooping.” He held the note in his fingers.
She slumped against a tree. Was that why he was angry? “I found it on my way home.”
“Sorry we fought?”
“Like I said, I snuck out because Mom didn’t want me to go out in the storm.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. Without her, he would already be at his uncle’s or the hospital not rushing for shelter between storms. Without him, she would be dead.
“I screwed up.” She let her head hang. This would forever be her fault. Is this what happened when you disobeyed your mom? When a storm destroyed the world?
He frowned. “You wha—”
“I snuck out and got caught in the storm.” She squirmed under his harsh gaze.
“Why wou—”
“I had flyers for the march. I promised Megan.” Each time she explained her reason, it seemed more ridiculous. Mom had asked her how she would survive in the storm, and she’d been so sure, so certain that she’d be fine. It was no big deal.
But she wasn’t fine, and it was a big deal, and because of her, neither was he.
“Flyers?”
“For the Youth for the Planet March.” She rubbed her face with her hands.
“Wait. Wasn’t the last one—”
“Cancelled.” She clamped her eyes shut to stop the pressure building behind them.
“So, you’re saying you walked all the way from Foun—“
“Founders Square, yes. Why all the questions?” She folded over her chest and huffed. What was this, a trial?
“Oh,” he said. “Uh, so you ran away?”
“No. It’s not like that.” She stared at her dirty hands, her eyes losing focus. She looked up. “Mom hates storms because dad had an accident in one. She always overreacts, so I never listen, but this time I should have. Are you happy now?”
“Did he get hurt, your dad?”
“He died.” She buried her hands in her face. She could never bring Dad back, and now she might have lost Mom and Sarah.
“I’m sorry.” He stood, hands in his pockets.
She sniffed and wiped her eyes, the heaviness in her chest a steady ache.
“We have to keep moving or we’ll get caught out here in the dark.” He gripped her hand and helped her to her feet.
Was he still angry? Did it matter? She leaned forward and fell into a steady tromp.
The return hike was downhill, but Emma’s thighs ached. She stumbled as she plodded behind him. She ducked as he held a branch for her, and in front of her stood a cedar fence, but not the one in his yard. She groaned, and he pointed to the rail on the fence. He sat beside her as the wind blew her fly away hair into her face. At least it was clean. She turned to him.
“You must have been to the marches?” she asked. “Your dad came.” She glanced at the Cedarville firs, several now lying on the ground. Her sentinels were falling. The severity of what had happened over the last week left her numb.
“Dad led the team of researchers who predicted this pattern of storms, but none of them knew when it would hit, my dad included. It was a constant battle with politicians calling his team wackos, doing junk science, spreading fake news.” He paused to take a shaky breath.
She blinked. “So, who ignored your dad? The governor? The president?”
“You’ve been to the marches. You’ve seen the signs. Lots of people still don’t believe. But lots of people do, and some were prepared.” He stared at his boots and hung his head.
She shuddered, looking away. “I wasn’t prepared—not for packs of dogs, looters, no cell service, electricity, or light rail.” She glanced at him then turned to the trees in the distance.
“I thought I was prepared, too, but I wasn’t prepared at all, not for this—no 911, no phones, roads blocked.” His words tumbled from his mouth.
“That’s not true. You are really prepared.” She turned to face him.
He didn’t respond. She wiped her nose on her sleeve.
“We crawled over piles of trees from Founder’s Square to my house, through branches just like this.” She swung her arm to the trees and debris piled around them. “The stink of the garbage, rotting food…”
She clenched her jaw, and tears coursed down her cheeks. “I left Lilli and Jade two days ago then drank from the river, and I guess you know the rest. That’s how prepared I was.”
He reached out his hand, and she grasped it, the warmth of him seeping into her. It shocked her, but she didn’t let go.
“I don’t know who could have prepared for this.” He helped her to her feet. Once again, she would not make it to family today. Would she ever see them again?
She ached from missing them. Jade’s words ran through her brain as she followed Josh. “Until we meet again.” Then Lilli’s, “Are we there yet?”
She tried to mimic Josh’s ambling gait. He confused her. Was he angry with her? Fatigue kept the edge on her nerves, and if she sat down one more time, she’d fall asleep.
He steered her through a pile of trees, and with a jolt she followed him down the row of berries by his garden. They were home. She stumbled and rubbed her temples, and her vision cleared. The red barn came into view. He glanced over his shoulder but didn’t stop. The porch came into view, and he crouched. Bill, Dean, and the guy with red hair stood there.
The dark clouds gathering in the distance blocked the sun, and the wind lifted strands of her hair tickling her face. Another storm? She shivered as she squatted by his side. The men on the porch were arguing, but she couldn’t make out their words. She rested her hand on his shoulder and leaned closer to hear them. He glanced at her, and she pulled her hand away, unsettled by his warmth.
He focused on the men. All she needed now was for her belly to rumble. She braced herself for his next move. If the men caught them before they got to the root cellar…she had to keep up, that was all.
Bill and Red-hair-guy disappeared into the house.
“Dean’s still on lookout. The guy with red hair must be Mo. Bill mentioned a radio expert the last time he was here.”
She nodded. He held a finger to his lips. “Let’s go before they come back.”
Her knees shook with each step. He opened the root cellar door, and she tumbled in behind him. She glanced at him as he sat beside her.
“Until we meet again, root cellar.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. Where did that come from?
A small smile formed on his lips. “What?”
She raised her chin and kept her gaze focused on the bins of carrots and potatoes. If she met his eyes, would she cry? Maybe.
Her face burned, and she fumbled with her backpack straps. “It’s something my neighbor, Mrs. M, said before I left. I probably won’t see her again.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. She’s so old.” She sat up and turned to Josh. “What day is it?”
He shook his head, his face blank. “Wednesday, I think?”
She leaned against the wall. “My birthday was Thursday. The march was Saturday, and today is Wednesday? I’ve been sixteen for a week, and I want cake. I haven’t had my cake yet.” She pounded the floor with her fist. She did want cake, could taste Mom’s sour cream chocolate frosting.
“Cake? Huh.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “Happy birthday?”
She hung her head. Was Thursday the day she drank from the river? Of course, it was. Happy birthday.
“I have applesauce, but that’s the best I can do.”
He glanced at the door that led to the storage room. Was chat-time over?
“When things have settled down, I’m going to hold you to that applesauce.” She nudged his shoulder, and he nudged her back. Her insides fluttered. Butterflies? Hmm.
“We need to make a plan.” He knelt on one knee.
She nodded, biting her lip. She’d wanted to help, and she’d fly to the moon, if that’s what he needed, but how much help would she be in her condition?
“We’ll climb into the storage room, and I’ll push open the door a crack while you check for Bill or anyone in the basement. Then I’ll ease it closed. It will be quick, so stay sharp.” He sloughed off his pack and opened the half door. “No talking. Ready?”
“Now? I mean, I don’t thi—”
“Of course, now. You can do this.”
She shrugged off her pack.
“If no one’s there, I can send a message to my uncle. He’ll send Larson and come and get us. If someone is there, I close the door and we wait.”
She nodded.
He raised his eyebrows at her, climbed into the storage room, then held his hand up to her. She took his hand, and he held her steady. She climbed down, his warm breath tickling her neck.
He turned out the flashlight. She crouched by the door. The darkness disoriented her, and she wobbled, but he held her by her shoulder, and the shelves wedged her upright.
He eased the door open. She peered through the crack. Blue socks and dirty jeans, it was the red-haired guy. The fire crackled, and the radio clattered away. She tapped his hand, and he eased the door shut. He helped her stand and followed her into the root cellar.
She pressed her hands to her temples. Was her head going to explode? “The guy with the red hair was sending a message.” Blood pounded in her ears.
“I heard. It was directions on how to get here,” he whispered. “Stay here. I’m going outside to check something.”
He placed a warm hand on her shoulder, but she shivered. He disappeared out the door, and she chewed her lip, tasted blood. She brushed her hand over her hair. Spider? Probably not. She crouched in the dark room. When would he come back?
Footsteps coming fast approached the door, and she picked up a piece of wood from the floor. The door opened, and he shook his head, dark circles under his eyes, frown lines creasing his forehead. She dropped the wood with a clatter. She rushed to him, and he embraced her then dropped his arms and took a step back. She cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact. We make quite a pair.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Bill and Dean are arguing. Bill wants to wait for a reply, but Dean’s freaking out. He thinks the law is coming. His words, not mine, but Bill is the boss, which means they might be here for a while.”
“The law?” Her belly gurgled.
Again? Her face burned as she held her middle.
“Deputy Larson had Bill and Dean in custody. Somehow, they escaped, obviously, or they wouldn’t be here.” He paced the small space. “We need that radio.”
“So, what do we do?” Her heart battered her ribs.
“We check again. Ready?”
“No.”
Her hands shook as he took her by the elbow and helped her down the stairs. She sat next to the door, and he opened it a crack.
Bill’s voice thundered down the stairs. “Mo, Larson’s back.”
“What?” Mo leapt from the chair and ran up the stairs.
She fell back. “Mo is gone.”
He took her arm, and she stood. He opened the door and rushed to the radio. “What a stroke of luck.”
“What are they doing?” Emma stared at the ceiling as the men rummaged through the house, footsteps clomping from room to room. The radio beeped to life, transmitting then repeating the message. He scratched notes on his tablet.
“It’s from Uncle Carl.” He swiveled to face her. “He wants to know who’s using this radio, and if we’re okay. Apparently, that guy sent all his messages to Uncle Carl.” He rubbed his chin and chuckled. “He’s no expert. What a relief.”
“That’s a relief.” She leaned against the desk. “Bill won’t get any backup.”
Josh didn’t respond. He sat, focused on the radio, and tapped in his message. The response was almost instant, and he plopped back in the chair.
“What?”
“He’s already on his way.”
“Maybe Uncle Carl could give me a ride to Cedarville?”
A loud crash shook the floor above.
She jumped. “What are they doing?”
He stared at the ceiling. “They’re trying to get into the gun safe. Larson confiscated all of Bill’s weapons.”
The footsteps ran out the front door.
He jogged up the steps and peeked into the dining room then motioned to her. “Come on.”
“What? No.” She scurried after him, grabbing a flashlight and gripping it like a weapon.
He raced to the front door and skidded to a stop. She caught up to him and peered over his shoulder. The sun peeked through the clouds, and she squinted into the yard as Mo and Dean ran into the barn. A tall guy in a cowboy hat chased them, his pistol in his hands.
“I didn’t see Bill.” He started running, motioned for her to follow, and skirted the yard. He stopped under the apple tree behind a pile of broken branches.
“Stop,” echoed from the barn.
She rushed to follow him, blood pounding in her ears. She huddled by the trunk of the tree, clutching Josh’s coat sleeve.
A shot rang out, and Larson fell on his stomach into the barn, the soles of his boots splayed at odd angles. He lay still as death.